One young mother heard the "pop pop pop" in bed over her Lifetime movie. By the time she pulled on enough clothes to brave the front door, Portland police were already crisscrossing the far side of the New Columbia pocket park with yellow tape and flashlights.

She gave me her name when we met, then called the paper Monday afternoon, begging for her anonymity back, fearing "retaliation."

The morning after another gang shooting -- the city's 23rd in 71 days -- this pocket of the Villa doesn't feel that intimidating. The police tape is gone, the morning wind-swept and gray. A man runs through the triangular park, but he's chasing a flock of notebook pages that have escaped 2-year-old, Emmanuel, standing on the small porch of their home.

"Around where I live," Eca-Etabo Wasongolo tells me, "it's so quiet." He works as a community organizer with Janus Youth Programs and cherishes the rapport he has with the neighbors:

"Here, we are so familiar."

At New Columbia, so are the gang shootings. Billy Moore was shot to death as he stepped off a bus in June 2010, 12 days after his graduation from Rosemary Anderson High School.

Shalamar Edmond, another 18-year-old, died of multiple gunshot wounds last May on the rim of McCoy Park, collapsing against the rear fender of an F-250 pickup.

"There's a lot more excitement up there," the Lifetime fan says, nodding toward the more heavily traveled McCoy Park. "I don't have any issues down here."

Retaliation aside.

Three blocks north of Rosa Parks School, North Woolsey and North Dwight carve out a small park that would spark envy in any gated community.

There's a spanking new playground structure, shade, swales and benches. On a summer's night, I suspect, the porches facing the park are filled with dozens of people who subscribe to the proclamation on its signboard:

"We will be the change that we want to see."

On Sunday night, however, Jose Monroy, 20, stepped outside and into an argument with gang members. Three shots later, Monroy was hospitalized in stable condition and the police were marking off the crime scene.

"It's the same shootings, the same stuff," Sergey Dronov said. "It is what it is."

Dronov was moving furniture Monday, on a break, he said, from fishing the Bering Sea. He had two friends tendering him advice in Russian but he didn't need the help. "We used to live in the old Columbia Villa, moved away for five years and then came back," he says.

"I don't see much change. It's famous for these shootings. The roots are still here, the roots of criminal activity. We have good people living here, but the activities are what they are. I don't think there's enough attention paid to this part of town."

The rain is leaning on us, so Dronov disappears into his truck, me into my car. Even with the windows up, I can hear the alarm of a distant train.

Long after I drive away, I can see Emmanuel, the 2-year-old, silent on that porch, staring out at his inheritance.